


nine parts of christmas

by thescyfychannel



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Holidays, Humanstuck, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 12:03:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17467181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescyfychannel/pseuds/thescyfychannel
Summary: there are little snatches of time you get between minutes of the holidays that just...yours.





	nine parts of christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snailman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snailman/gifts).



> for themidir's christmas

i.

Kar gets real particular about his hot chocolate in ways that never fail to amuse you. Sometimes you think he'd institute rules about what sorts you are and aren't allowed to bring into the house, if it weren't for the fact that you make hot chocolate just right—by hand, the way he likes it, melting actual chocolate into the pot along with hot milk.

 

* * *

 

 

ii.

Snow's falling outside, the big fluffy flakes that quiet the world and make everything softer around the edges. It makes you feel softer around the edges too, makes Kar's eyes shine off the firelight when he tilts his head, looking the tree over, like he's trying to sort which decorations belong where. You'd save that light for a colder day, if you could.

 

* * *

 

 

iii.

Ice don't break itself, salt never laid down without help, and snow melts on its own damn time. These are all facts that send you out into the cold, time and time again, to do the chores you know Kar would do (with a maximum of bitching) if you so much as hinted you were tired. The cold's more tolerable for you than it is for him, though, snowy climes easily invested in your blood, and the look he gives you when you come back in—

It's well worth it, is all.

 

* * *

 

 

iv.

Christmas morning, you wake up to softness and light, safe and sound. It's something nice, and you hold it close to your heart, Kar close to your chest, for as long as the world will allow.

 

* * *

 

 

v.

The whims of the world, it turns out, are dictated by your stomach. Kar makes you hot cocoa (the right way) to go with your breakfast, and before you can even say a word, he's tugging on snow pants and his heftiest coat, insisting that you've done more than enough of your time clearing the ice and snow away from your cozy little home. You think maybe you should argue, but then again, it's nice, sipping your cocoa and leaning against the window frame as you watch him work.

 

* * *

 

 

vi.

When he comes back in, you kiss him, and the look you see on his face—

You think maybe it's the look you get on yours, when you see the look he gives you when _you're_ the one coming back in. And you think maybe you're wearing that particular look, but you can't consider much thought beyond that because now he's kissing back and you've gotta set the cocoa you made for him while he was out there down before there's a spill—

 

* * *

 

 

vii.

Softness settles in all around the two of you easily, on ordinary days and extra special ones and the worst ones besides, but it's a special kind of softness that comes on Christmas. You're wrapped up in a soft blanket of snow, soon to be marred by snowballs and snowmen, snow angels and all sorts of other things. For now, though—for always, though—you keep him wrapped up in your arms, your chin atop his head as he sprawls half across you, swearing at the video games he'd gotten for gifts, keeping you warm as you wait for your turn to play them through (you'll never tell him, but you're pretty fuckin' sure you're better at this shit than he is).

It's the kind of thing that makes you think the world might be alright. That the world's going to keep turning, that the world might keep on being alright.

Pretty nice feeling, if you take the time to think about it, which you usually really don't.

 

* * *

 

 

viii.

discarded wrapping paper and  
scattered pine needles  
do not a holiday make  
it is his forehead against yours  
shoulders to backs  
legs piled over  
comfort laid across in the colors of holiday blankets and throws  
it is the sound of soft music  
played over the noise of a fire  
drifting out over glittering snow  
it is a smile  
laughter  
a shared chore and a burden eased  
even if you knew he could shovel faster  
he appreciated the help and the break  
and you appreciated his smile  
the way you wonder if he appreciates yours  
ugly sweaters and lazy mornings  
do not a holiday make  
neither the decorations  
nor the presents  
are what tells you this is the season  
for bringing light and life back into your home  
when winter threatens to close in  
fast and cold  
it is his hand in yours  
the warmth and light and life  
shining from his eyes  
and the way you two fit together  
the home you've build  
the love you know

 

ix.

Karkat sleeps hard when he sleeps, and seeing him sprawled across the couch calls the softest of smiles up on you, easier than you'd have ever thought possible. He barely stirs when you pick him up, not even once as you head up the stairs—

But when you tuck him in and settle down beside him, his eyes open, and he's wearing a smile all his own.


End file.
